


Too Much to Ask

by foolsonparade



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Fluff, Humbug Hair, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rated for a bit of swearing, Romance, Romantic Tension, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolsonparade/pseuds/foolsonparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A college/uni roommate AU in which Alex keeps Miles up with his coughing and Miles really can’t bring himself to mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much to Ask

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Never happened (except maybe in a parallel universe. I don't know.) I don't own Miles or Alex; I just occasionally borrow them for my twisted enjoyment.  
> Hi everyone! Here's another oneshot from my tumblr. As always, it features sick Alex and nurse Miles, but this time I decided to go for an AU concept and dropped the two of them in college and made them roommates. I also chose to experiment with a bit of romantic tension in this one, rather than going for my standard Established Relationship deal. Hopefully I didn't screw it up big time!  
> Thank you! Enjoy! xx

It’s nearing two a.m. and Miles hasn’t slept yet.

It’s not that he isn’t tired—on the contrary, he’s exhausted after a day of classes and a grueling shift at the campus deli—or even that he’s physically incapable of sleeping. Really, he’s been dozing for nigh three hours now, eyelids heavy and body itching for rest, but each time sleep’s grasp tightens, consciousness yanks him away from reprieve. If he allows himself to be so cruel, it’s all the fault of his roommate.

Of course, that statement is only the exhaustion speaking, because Miles knows that in truth Alex would much rather be sleeping as well. The poor bastard has been up with a brutal cough, though, and the blasted thing won’t allow sleep for either Miles or Alex and doesn’t hint at letting up any time soon.

Miles isn’t unsympathetic in the slightest, but he still can’t help but let his mind stray to his morning classes. The thought of facing an eight a.m. ear training class immediately followed by music theory is not one he likes to consider when he’s been listening to Alex hacking up a lung and maybe a couple internal organs for hours on end, but it’s about as inescapable as the sympathy that twists in his chest when he hears Alex struggling with another fit. It’s a conflicting combination of emotions, and he starts to doubt he’ll manage sleep tonight regardless of whether the coughing continues.

Even with the nagging notion of morning classes fresh in his mind, Miles thinks that he’d like to help, as awkward as such a situation promises to be. He and Alex are friends, yes—you can’t _not_ be friendly with your flatmate unless you feel like living in near misery—but he’s not sure if they’re _that_ close just yet. Sure, they’ve got a comfortable routine and share a couple of laughs and sometimes even venture as far as to get drinks together after a long day of work and classes, but could Miles impose like that? Even if he’s trying to help, he’s not so sure that Alex isn’t the type to crave solitude when he’s under the weather. He certainly seems to crave solitude the rest of the time.

But then, he hadn’t been especially solitary that morning—or rather yesterday morning, as the clock has long-since ticked over into a new day. In fact, he’d even seemed to relax when Miles joined him at the kitchen table for breakfast and hailed him with a simple, “Mornin’,” but that could just be Miles flattering himself. Maybe he just hadn’t been able to read Alex through the mask of obvious illness.

Alex hadn’t exactly been in a hurry to leave despite having an early Brit lit. class, but maybe the blame for that lay on fatigue. He’d been weighed down by exhaustion, as was deducible from the slouch in his posture and the dark purple rings around his eyes, and so it’s plausible that maybe he was just too tired to be excited for what he had once referred to as his favorite class. Still, Miles likes to think that maybe he’s wanted—if not needed—in such a time as this when Alex is thoroughly miserable, even if the ailing man would likely go for just about any friendly company right now.

But that doesn’t exactly put a decisive end to his inner debate. Alex is awake, yes, and coughing up a storm, but Miles is no closer to deciding whether or not his aid is needed or even wanted than he was when a similar dispute struck him that morning upon first catching sight of his ill roommate.

More hacking cuts through the silence and Miles can actually _hear_ Alex’s discomfort, coughs grating on his lungs and probably bringing tears to those endearing doe eyes. Just like that, Miles’ decision is made.

He throws aside the covers and swings his legs around, sock-clad toes greeting the carpet, and a minute later he’s padding next door to Alex’s bedroom. He knocks, careful to keep the sound muted but audible in case Alex has a headache, and is granted entrance by a gruff rendition of his roommate’s gentle voice.

The door creaks open, and he catches a glance of messy hair just visible in the dark.

“Hey,” Miles greets, suddenly feeling very awkward. Of course it’d struck him before that this could be quite an uncomfortable situation to be in, but somehow in practice it’s much worse than he could have predicted. “You alright, Al?”

Alex swerves, dodges the question. “Am I keepin’ you up?” he asks. A thought seems to strike him, and he says, “You can turn on the light.”

Miles does just that, and they both take a moment to adjust to the change before finally meeting each other’s gaze. When Miles is allowed full view of Alex, he almost wishes he’d left the room dark just to avoid the deep ache of sympathy that greets him when his eyes soak up every sickly detail marring Alex’s features. Mostly, though, he wants to help.

Miles is left to assume that it’s bashfulness coloring Alex’s sallow cheeks and not fever, but he realizes he could be wrong and almost wants to check for himself. He refrains.

Neither of them has answered the other’s question, but Miles elects to ignore this and instead boldly approaches the bed where Alex is propped up by several pillows, eyes glassy and tired and hair a mess of disobedient curls tousled by too much tossing and turning. Miles sits at the end of the mattress, keeping some distance between himself and Alex so as to avoid frightening the smaller man (he can’t help but think of Alex as a skittish animal a lot of the time, but it’s easy to blame the comparison on his undeniably deer-like features), and searches for the right words to diffuse the tension.

“’ave ya taken anythin’ for that cough yet?” he asks, hoping his forwardness doesn’t embarrass his shy flatmate. “Sounds pretty bad.”

“It’s—uh. No. I haven’t,” he says, swallowing cautiously and then succumbing to another coughing fit. The exertion makes him go red in the face.

Miles waits, trying to radiate patience, and shortly thereafter Alex is breathing steadily again and sniffling somewhat pathetically. “I try to avoid cold medicine,” he confesses, rubbing at his eyes and stifling a small cough in the fabric of his oversized sweater sleeve. “It makes me—uh—kinda weird. Like—” He makes a vague gesture with his hands, and then drops his arms in defeat and perhaps exhaustion. “Yeah,” he concludes awkwardly.

“I still think you’d be better off for takin’ somethin’,” Miles advises. “Better weird than coughin’ your way to an early grave, yeah?”

Alex chuckles, but the action prompts another coughing fit. Luckily, this one is short-lived.

“I’ve got fuck all to take,” Alex admits when he can breathe again, gasping just slightly. His chest is heaving with each breath and Miles feels his eyebrows draw together in concern. “I’ve not purchased anythin’ like that in a long time.”

“I can run out and get ya somethin’ if ya tell me what you’ll take,” Miles offers without a second thought. Alex fixes him with an unreadable look.

“You don’t need to do that,” he says, swallowing with some struggle.

Miles is unable to resist rolling his eyes, affection coaxing his lips into a smile. “’course I don’t ‘ave to, ya twat. I’m offerin’ ‘cause I want to.”

Alex looks unconvinced. “You’ve got classes in the mornin’.”

“So’ve you,” Miles says, “but I don’t think either of us are goin’ to attend.”

The silence that falls suggests that Alex is considering his offer, and Miles feels a bit too pleased with himself over the tiny victory. The tension between them seems to be melting away as Alex warms up to the idea of accepting help, and Miles is near ecstatic.

“I don’t really know what to take,” Alex murmurs, voice noticeably overworked. “’aven’t medicated meself in quite a long time.”

“Want me to take me best guess, then?”

Alex pauses, then says in a volume so low Miles has to strain to hear him, “If you don’t mind.”

Miles hops off the bed, beaming too widely for someone in the presence of the plague, and heads for the door. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises. “Need anythin’ else?”

Alex pauses, swallows hard, and finally shakes his head to indicate the negative.

“Right,” Miles says, and then switches off the light and heads back down the hall to his bedroom for some clothes.

\--

Half an hour later finds Miles unlocking the flat with one hand—the other weighed down by a bag full of supplies from the nearest drugstore—and eventually gaining entrance, tossing his keys noisily on the table just inside the front door before it occurs to him that Alex might have managed to fall asleep since he left. A moment later, though, his worries are put to rest when he hears distinctive coughing and new concerns move into the spot vacated by the last.

Discarding his coat and shoes as he goes, Miles moves through the apartment and crosses into the kitchen where he retrieves a glass from the cabinet and fills it with water. He then unpacks most of his drugstore plunder on the counter and tears open the box of cold and flu relief, ripping out a dose for Alex and tossing it beside the water glass before setting to work putting up the rest of his purchases.

Alex may have said he didn’t want anything else, but that didn’t stop Miles from buying all the must-haves for fighting the plague.

Shortly thereafter Miles has put up the soup, popsicles, decaffeinated tea, extra tissues, disinfectant spray (as eager as he is to help, Miles doesn’t much fancy sharing Alex’s illness), and orange juice; and is walking back to Alex’s room with the water, medicine, and a box of tissues, along with a thermometer (he wasn’t sure that either of them actually owns one) and a spare blanket from the living room sofa. He knocks softly on Alex’s door (with his elbow, as both hands are full) and then wrestles open the door with some difficulty upon receiving the okay to enter. He hits the light switch with his arm and the room is bathed in the ceiling lamp’s soft glow.

“Christ, Mi, didja buy the whole store?” Alex laughs, eyes full of gratitude despite his joshing, and Miles offers a grin, both at his words and his use of the nickname ‘Mi’. He dumps as much of the supplies on the bed as he can, but hands the water to Alex directly and waits until he’s certain that his shaking hands can hold it before letting go. This means touching hands for an extended period of time, but Miles doesn’t mind in the slightest.

When Alex has got a firm grip on the cup, Miles pops open the dose of cold and flu relief and dumps the capsules into Alex’s outstretched hand, ignoring the thrill that flutters in his chest when Alex makes eye contact and holds his gaze for all of two seconds.

The smaller man throws back the capsules one at a time, obviously wary of his sore throat’s protestations, and then thanks Miles in a small voice.

“No problem, la,” Miles assures him, smiling, and then passes him the box of tissues before tearing open the packaging on the thermometer. Alex looks at him with some suspicion in his glassy gaze, and Miles explains, “Thought you might ‘ave a temperature.”

Alex nods, but clears his throat bashfully. “Ya don’t have to be doin’ this, y’know.”

Miles gets the thermometer open and tampers with it for a moment before passing it to Alex, who has moved the remainder of his water to the bedside table.

“I know,” Miles replies, sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed while Alex sticks the thermometer under his tongue. Miles can’t help but smile at the sight of the man gazing at him with big eyes and that device hanging out of his mouth, the effect only boosted by the long, messy hair and the big sweater. He’s positively adorable, and Miles almost tells him so before his common sense halts his rash tongue in its tracks.

A short while later, the thermometer beeps and Alex looks at the reading before handing it back to Miles. He’s definitely got a fever, but it’s blessedly low-grade and definitely no cause for great concern. Miles almost sighs in relief.

“Then why are you?” Alex asks, coughing pitifully into his fist. “Doin’ this, I mean. Helpin’ me and all.”

Miles has to consider the question for a long while before a response comes to him, but when he replies he’s more than sure of his answer. He says, “Because I care about you,” and Alex’s cheeks color and a smile splits his wan face.

Feeling content that he’s done all he can, Miles moves to leave before Alex’s soft voice stops him:—

“You could stay, y’know. If you wanted to.”

Fighting back a wide grin, Miles gathers up the discarded thermometer packaging and heads for the door, turning back to face Alex when he’s halfway in the hall. “I’ll come back, yeah?” he says, sharing a smile with his older roommate.

Alex nods his acquiescence and Miles is gone and back again faster than either man can really register.

Clad in pajamas again, Miles flips the bedroom light off and closes the door behind him, crawling into bed just beside Alex and allowing the sick man to shift until they’re touching shoulders. Suddenly, any leftover awkwardness has melted away and left only comfort in its wake.

Miles thinks he hears Alex whisper, “Thank you, Miles,” but the words are lost when the medicine seems to overwhelm his system and lull him into a drug-aided sleep.

Miles can’t resist planting a kiss on that perfect head of hair, and he allows his mind to wander down a trail of what-ifs and maybes regarding the small man curled up at his side, aware all the while of Alex’s even breathing and the warmth of his body against Miles’.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are more appreciated than I can express in words, and you can also send me a message at most-indignant.tumblr.com! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and have a great day! <3 xx


End file.
